May Friendship Never Cease
by JustCallMeMarly
Summary: Post'GFA'. The war is over and a beacon of hope is spread over the 4077th; hope that life can now return to normal. But for Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce – Hawkeye to his friends – tragedy will strike and bring that hope crashing down around him
1. Part 1

_Summary: Post-'Goodbye, Farewell, and Amen'… The war is over and a beacon of hope is spread over the 4077th; hope that life can now return to normal. But for Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce – Hawkeye to his friends – tragedy will strike and bring that hope crashing down around him._

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**May Friendship Never Cease**

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**Prologue**

_"Look, I know how tough it is for you to say good-bye, so I'll say it. Maybe you're right and we will see each other again, but just in case we don't, I want you to know how much you've meant to me. I'll never be able to shake you. Whenever I see a pair of big feet or a cheesy mustache, I'll think of you," Hawkeye said, a bittersweet look on his face. B.J. smiled slightly._

_"Whenever I smell month old socks, I'll think of you." Hawkeye smiled at the last dirty sock joke he'd hear from his best friend._

_"Or the next time someone nails my shoes to the floor," Hawkeye said back. B.J chuckled softly at the memory._

_"Or when somebody gives me a martini that tastes like lighter fluid."__ Hawkeye sobered, his face turning serious._

_"I'll miss you," he said, hoping that B.J. understood how much he meant it. It looked as though he did._

_"I'll miss you. I can't imagine what this place would have been like if I hadn't found you here," he said. Hawkeye nodded, in complete agreement. Then, after a final hug and a final smile, he stepped into the cockpit of the helicopter. B.J. waved one final time as the engines roared to life and he hopped back on his motorcycle. A sad look was shared between the men before the younger of the two sped off into the Korean dust. Hawkeye closed his eyes for a second as the helicopter took a few lurches to finally get off the ground. When he opened them again, he looked down to where three years of his life had been spent… there, written out in rocks was B.J.'s final message. GOODBYE…_

**May Friendship Never Cease**

He knew… the very second after his helicopter landed. Something was dreadfully wrong. The final farewell, ironically etched into his memory in stone, was to be the only and the last. Captain Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce landed at Kimpo with a heavy heart, not knowing specifically why. Itskipped a whole series of beatswhen he saw Colonel Sherman T. Potter waiting for him. The usually stoic-faced colonel was more than just stoic… he was pained. And that was when the ache started. Hawkeye stepped off the Huey, his legs feeling slightly weak as the good colonel approached. Before the captain could say anything, the older man wrapped an arm around the taller man's shoulders.

"Come along, son," he said in his fatherly way. Hawkeye was silent as they walked through the roughshod airport to the air commander's office. Colonel Potter shut the door behind them, leaving them alone to talk.

"If you're here to drag me back, I'm not responsible for what I might do… I could start the war all over again," Hawkeye tried to joke weakly. But it fell flat… deathly flat.

"You'll need to sit for this, Hawkeye," the man said. Hawkeye rubbed a quick, tired hand over his face before turning his defiant, steely blue eyes back to the colonel.

"What if I want to stand?" he asked as if his denial of the simple request would make everything else to be said next inconsequential and as equally deniable. Colonel Potter was silent a moment, as if choosing his next words carefully.

"So," Hawkeye broke the silence. "I take it that it was you who grounded my chopper to Tokyo… I wasn't even on my way to Guam, I swear…"

"It's B.J., son…" the colonel finally said as if trying to reel Hawkeye back to the dismal reality he was trying to hard to evade. Hawkeye's eyes went wide.

"What about B.J?" he asked, wanting so badly to cover his ears with his hands and pretend not to hear. Rather than say anything else, Colonel Potter extended his hand and Hawkeye could see the tarnished metal of a military dog tag. He reached out and clasped the thin, warm piece of metal in his own fingers.

There on the metal, where he couldn't readily deny it, was the stamped letters spelling out 'Hunnicutt'. The doctor then let out a held breath as he clasped his hand around the dog tag and brought the fist to his forehead. Closing his eyes, he found the nearest chair and tried to keep himself from succumbing to the nausea.

"What…" he tried, but his throat closed. With considerable effort, he cleared it and continued. "What happened?" Colonel Potter pulled up a chair next to him and put a comforting hand on the young man's slumped back.

"The war may be over, son… but these two countries are far from stable. Son, it's not a simple task of putting down the guns and going to respective corners to think about what was done. There still are communist sympathizers roaming these roads and leftover artillery – will be that way for a long time. B.J was one of the last few to get packed up, according to a couple of nurses. I was at the orphanage by that time. B.J. had taken off on the road to Seoul to meet his plane, but he was caught in some crossfire. It wasn't the snipers that got him, though. It was a danged landmine… there… there wasn't much left to identify but the motorcycle. A local found the tag, recognized the 4077th and searched me out. Got me at the orphanage right when I was about to leave," Colonel Potter said, stumbling only slightly in his doctor-like relaying. Hawkeye nodded once. _Landmines…_ They escorted the eminent Captain B.J. Hunnicut into the land of Korea where daughters search out the blasted things for the safety of livestock… and they escorted the friend, the _brother_, out in such an anonymous, unforgiving manner.

"Does anyone else… know?" he asked hoarsely of his 4077 comrades. Colonel Potter shook his head.

"I wanted to tell you first, son. I figured he'd want it that way. As for the Mrs. and the little one, I've tried putting a call through, but it's been understandably busy on the lines out," the colonel said. _A widow…_ Hawkeye thought. _Peg Hunnicutt was a widow before the age of thirty…_ He took a calming breath. _His daughter will never know who her father was…_ Another calming breath. _And I'll never get to joke around with him at veteran parades or reunions… _The calming breath didn't work this time as he stood quickly and ran to the metal trashcan sitting next to the desk so as not to retch all over the floor. He retched until he couldn't any more, Colonel Potter's comforting hand upon his back. After a moment Hawkeye looked up at the other man, his face pale and his blue eyes watering.

"I'd like to say that was breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the past three years," he joked, the smile he'd wanted to go with it failing to grace his face. There was a look that entered the colonel's eyes as he smiled down at the young man. It wasn't pity – not by a long shot. Instead, it was understanding. They both knew that Hawkeye was trying valiantly to re-build the walls of humor and crack-ups to protect himself from the ugly truth. But these walls would not be as sturdy, for the foundation had been torn away.

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_Two weeks later in __Mill Valley__California__…_

Hawkeye stood at the front of the funeral parlor, staring at the flag-draped casket with a morbid fascination. He was alone for the moment, but he could hear the voices of family members and friends seen not that long ago arriving. He wouldn't be alone with what remained of his best friend - or his thoughts - for very much longer.

Captain B.J. Hunnicutt was… _had been_ one of the finest. The finest of doctors, the finest of fathers, the finest of husbands, the finest of men… the finest of friends. It tore Hawkeye apart to know that his grin – that perfect grin – would be seen no more by wife, daughter, the world… by best friend. He had only been thirty-one years old. Only a few years younger than himself. Hawkeye had seen the young die. Hundreds had been carted in front of him bleeding, torn up, dead. But he'd never expected this one. A hand clasped his shoulder, causing him to jump. Hawkeye turned to look into sympathetic hazel eyes.

"Trap… Trapper?" he asked, taken completely off guard by the other man's presence. He then looked past his former bunk-mate to where members of the 4077 had congregated in the doorway, watching the reunion. Radar gave Hawkeye a small, guilty smile that told the older man that it was the young clerk that had arranged this.

"What are you doing here Trapper?" he asked, only surprise evident in his voice.

"I… well…" what did someone say when faced with the mortality of his 'replacement'… and the utter devastation it caused? "I figured you'd need a friendly shoulder."

"A shoulder…" Hawkeye said simply as he looked down to where his hand lay on the flag. Trapper shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Or, rather, Radar thought you'd need a shoulder," he admitted. Hawkeye nodded once, but continued to look at his hand.

"Thank you," Hawkeye finally said after a moment, and then looked up at his friend. "Thank you for being here. It's good to see you again…" It was as much a forgiving, as it was a dismissing, statement if Trapper had ever heard one. And so, he left his war buddy standing alone. Hawkeye let out a sigh. Who were they going to send to talk to him next? It was predictable that they send the old bunk-mate first, to get the ball rolling, of course. He smiled to himself when he caught a whiff of peppermint, cigars and horses in the presence next to him.

"Howdy, Colonel. I suppose I should be glad that you're standing there, sir. I left my father hundreds of miles away back in Maine…" he said. Potter cleared his throat.

"You know better'n I do that I'm not a colonel any longer. Just call me Sherm, boy," he said. Hawkeye chuckled.

"And you know better'n I do that I'm not a 'boy' any longer," he said back. Potter clasped his hands behind his back and rocked forward on his toes, then back again. It was if he were inspecting the troops all over again.

"I'll venture to say that's true of all of us, Hawkeye," Potter said. "War has a tendency of removing all that was a child within us… in our case, a little more surgically careful, but true all the same." Hawkeye looked at his former CO with an appraising glance.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to call you Sherm. You're Colonel Potter to me," he said after a moment. Potter slapped a hand onto the younger man's shoulder.

"We'll get you out of that habit all quick and tidy. It's Radar I'm going to have to work at. He calls me Sherm, but always follows it with a 'sir'. I'm beginning to think my given name is Shermsir…" the older man said with a sad shake of his head. All during Potter's explanation, the man had been gently easing Hawkeye to the rear of the funeral parlor, without him being aware of it, to where the 4077 was waiting.

Hawkeye couldn't help but chuckle when he realized that he'd been maneuvered in such a covert way. His eyes ran over the faces of the men and women he'd known for the past three years – and most he'd only said goodbye to two long weeks ago. It was good to see the Colonel with his Mrs. Colonel, but this latest war had left its mark on both of them. The simple laugh lines around the mouth and eyes had become craters, and the bags under their eyes looked as permanent as the silver in their hair. But they looked happy. And that was something.

Trapper stood off to the side slightly, his wife at his side, and broke off the conversation he'd been having with Radar at Hawkeye's approach. He, strangely, looked the same as he'd left. But then, he'd gone home when the rest of them had to stay. No longer as bitter about it as he had been about that whole situation, Hawkeye looked at their company clerk.

Radar no longer looked like the fresh-scrubbed teenager he'd been the majority of the war. He didn't wear that silly cap and there was an awareness that no 20-year-old kid should ever have.

Frank… well, he looked as depressed as only a lieutenant colonel without a war could be. But still… it was good to see him, ol' Ferret Face.

Father Mulcahy hadn't changed much. There was a bit of an oddness about him now, though, as he seemed to observe everything in a much wider scope, yet could pinpoint a conversation with unassuming ease. Hawkeye would lay a bet that the young chaplain didn't receive this particular telegram from the Big One Upstairs.

Charles Winchester III stood off to everyone's right a little bit, all six-some feet of him standing up straight. If it had been any other time, at any other gathering, in any other situation, Hawkeye could picture the glass of expensive red wine in his hand, a pretty young society miss on his arm and poetry spilling forth from his lips in his dignified, Bostonian accent. But alas… twas not such a situation. Instead, there were a few more gray hairs and a tiredness that seemed to be instilled in them all. No doubt it came from the stress of trying to adapt to a world without hundreds of casualties, gunfire or bombs invading every aspect of everyday life.

Margaret looked older too, and there was a slight droop to her usually proud shoulders. But among all this, there was one person who seemed to have not changed at all… or at least that was the impact he was trying to go for at that very moment.

Klinger stood, his wife by his side, in a modest black number with matching pumps. Hawkeye smiled and was about to say something but a soft, kind voice interrupted the appraising silence.

"I think, somewhere in the back of my mind, I've been avoiding this corner of the room," Peg Hunnicutt interrupted. Hawkeye turned to look at the petite woman, as did all the others. Rather than wait for the uncomfortable silence, Potter stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Sherman Potter, Mrs. Hunnicutt. It's a mighty fine pleasure to finally meet you," he said. When she took his proffered hand, he covered hers with his other and gave her a warm smile.

"Colonel Potter… I've heard so much about you from… letters," she said, licking her lip uncomfortably as she noticeably stumbled over the use of her husband's name. Potter smiled.

"Not so much a colonel at the moment, ma'am, as I am a friend. And I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you," he said in return. Then, Peg turned to look over the small group again.

"As much as your presence reminds me of how and why I lost my husband, B.J. would be very glad that you all are here. He loved you all, in spite of the war. He'd always say he wished he'd met you all someplace else," she told them. Silence fell as they each thought over her words. And just as Peg was about to move away, Klinger stepped up to her.

"He was the sanest man in all Korea, ma'am," Klinger told Peg as he gave her a salute. Peg's eyes were wide as she took in the Lebanese man standing in a tasteful black dress, low heels and a fashionable hat complete with veil. Soon-Lee stood at his side, with a sad smile on her face and her arm draped through the walking Section 8's other arm. Hawkeye turned to the young widow with a small smile.

"Klinger was looking to be discharged for being nuts. I'm sure B.J. told you all about it in his letters. It never worked, though. So, he gave up on the dresses near the end. This is his way of saying goodbye to Beej, I guess," he explained. Klinger gave Peg an assenting smile.

"Of all the people strong enough to make it through the war, of all the people who _should_ have made it through the war, Captain Hunnicutt was it," the former corporal said. Peg nodded once, unable to say anything in return, but held her hand out to the man. He took it.

"Thank you, Klinger. He'd be laughing right now… I'm sure he is," she said before reaching up to wipe a stray tear that had slipped out. With a final, watery smile at the rest, she turned and went to find her daughter. Hawkeye then took it upon himself to greet each and every person standing in front of him.

"Frank… you know, I'd hoped that with my fading memory that some of your chin had faded with it. I'm sorry to say that it hasn't. It's still not there, is it?" he asked. Frank gave the other man a familiar glare.

"Oh ha, ha, noodle head…" he said, falling back into the pattern of insult-insult alike. But then the two men shook hands, shocking most everyone standing next to them. He shook Charles's hand after.

"Salutations, Pierce," the Bostonian said with a nod. Hawkeye nodded back before he gripped Father Mulcahy's hand, then Klinger's, then Radar's, then Trapper's. He was about to lean down to give his favorite head nurse a kiss on the cheek, but was stopped as she stepped to him and gave him a quick hug. Hawkeye smiled fondly down at Margaret when she stepped back.

"Well, hello again Hotlips. Care to try out your nickname?" he asked with a grin and a tap of his finger against his lips. Everyone chuckled as Margaret let out an angry huff and a glare. But that glare cracked and fell into an expression of pain as she stepped to the lanky man and hugged him again.

"Oh God, Hawkeye…" she bemoaned. "You must be feeling horrible… I know I do, and I didn't know him half as well as you did."

"I don't think anyone knew Hunnicutt as well as Pierce did. After all, tweedledee and tweedledum were always joined at the hip," Frank scoffed.

"Isn't your wife calling, Frank?" Hawkeye asked with a bit of a sneer on his face. He should have known that Frank couldn't keep his mouth shut even if someone sewed it so. Frank just gave him a glare, but Hawkeye got the satisfaction of seeing the man look carefully out of the corner of his eye.

"I didn't come here for _your_ benefit, Pierce. I came because I actually liked Hunnicutt… mostly. It wasn't until he started hanging around you that he became intolerable… mostly," Frank said. He crossed his arms and looked as discontent as a second grader. Charles laughed.

"Sounds like you're jealous, Burns. Did someone not have any friends during the war?" he asked almost gleefully. Frank turned to face Charles.

"What do you know, you nosy Nelly? You lived in the same tent… are you telling me that you were best buddies with 'em?" he asked. Charles scoffed.

"Hardly. But I respected them. They were both brilliant doctors, especially under the conditions…" Charles said. Potter grinned.

"Amazing that he could actually admit that," he said, looking at a grinning Klinger and Radar. Charles gave them all a look.

"I'll ask you to refrain from this conversation seeing that it is not about you," he said, knowing that he was no longer under the man's command, but remaining respectful all the same. Potter held his hands up in surrender, but couldn't keep the chuckle down.

"Oh sure, Pierce and Hunnicutt were the wonders of the 4077… they were gods amongst the wounded…" Frank began to whine. Some things never changed, and most probably never would.

"It's good to know I'm not here," Hawkeye muttered as the two men continued to bicker amongst themselves about him and B.J. Margaret heard his comment and stood up straight. With a stern look on her face, she shoved Frank's shoulder, and then Charles's.

"Can it, you imbeciles! Can't you have a little bit of respect! We're here to say good-bye to a comrade, a friend. So zip your lips and go sit your butts down," she snapped to the two of them. Hawkeye chuckled as he shook his head, watching the nurse take the two men none-to-gently by the arms and push them towards the seats.

"Never let it be said you don't have the charm of a bulldozer, Margaret," he said,a teasing smile on his face. She gave him the look she usually reserved for him when he was being his complementary self, causing him to chuckle a bit more. Hawkeye had to keep from turning to look next to him, as he usually did in search of backup from his friend or to share a humorous glance. B.J. would surely have had a comeback for that. And that… was a sobering thought. With that, Hawkeye went to find his seat among B.J.'s family and loved ones, who probably didn't even know the B.J. who had died in Korea. What another sobering thought…

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_Two days later… Crabapple Cove, __Maine__…_

"Hello? Benjamin?" a voice called through the house. Hawkeye smiled to himself before answering.

"On the porch, Dad!" he yelled to his father. The elder Pierce opened the screen door and stepped out onto into the warm summer air.

"How was the weather in San Francisco?" he asked, leaning against the porch railing.

"Balmy and breezy, how else would it be?" Hawkeye asked. Then, he held up a hand to excuse the acidic sarcasm. "Sorry. I didn't notice much about the weather when I was there…" Daniel just nodded.

"That's understandable," he said. Hawkeye drained the rest of his beer and set the bottle down on the table with a heavy hand.

"I don't know about you, Dad, but I need another drink," Hawkeye said as he went to the kitchen, leaving his father on the porch looking after him with a concerned gaze. When Hawkeye re-emerged he was holding two beers.

"How are you holding up, son?" Daniel asked. It was nearly imperceptible, but Daniel saw Hawkeye's eye twitch.

"Fine," was the simple response he got. Daniel shook his head.

"You are not," he said. Icy blue eyes snapped to his.

"I said I'm fine. So it would be polite of you to just take that as it is," he said. Daniel sighed, unaccustomed to Hawkeye's temper. He knew that his son was walking a thin line right now. He knew how important B.J. Hunnicutt's friendship had meant to his son since the name had been scrawled into so many letters. But he also knew that if Hawkeye continued with this 'don't touch it, it won't hurt then' mentality, he'd end up in a place just like he'd been in Tokyo, calling home every once in a while and joking about full decks. After one more sigh, Daniel decided to take the bull by the horns and confront the issue he was concerned about.

"You'd better deal with this son… Deal with it before you try to pick up that phone and realize that there's no one on the other end," Daniel said sternly, standing in front of his son. Hawkeye let out a short laugh.

"Uh oh… Dad's brought out the important voice! I haven't heard that voice since… what? Age sixteen? Seventeen?" he said. Daniel's eyes narrowed.

"Since the day they drafted you," he said. Hawkeye was silent. Then, he let out a sigh.

"I don't think you need to worry, Dad. If I call someone, I think they'd pick up the phone. I didn't go _that_ crazy over there," he said as he sat back in the chair. Daniel, too, let out a sigh as he sat in the chair next to his only son.

"That wasn't what I meant, and I think you know that, Benjamin," he said. Hawkeye nodded, his eyes caught on his feet.

"I know that, Dad. I know you're talking about B.J. And don't think that I don't know he's gone," he said softly. "Sometimes, though, I wish Trapper had never gone home. If he'd stayed, none of this would have happened. I never would have met B.J., but at least he'd still be in Mill Valley, alive and with his family." Daniel caught a hint of bitterness in Hawkeye's voice and didn't know where it came from. So, he took a stab at it.

"Do you blame Trapper?" Daniel asked. Hawkeye's eyes went wide.

"Trapper? No! Of course not. I can't blame Trapper for going home. He got his orders. He took them – granted, without saying goodbye, but at least he's sitting in Boston with his wife and daughters. Hell, Dad… I don't even blame myself. Beej was the last of us to leave. _He_ saw _me_ off. If given the choice he would have been at the front of _that_ particular line, but instead he was the last by some trick of fate, some ironic sense of justice. Yeah, sometimes I wish it _had_ been me to ride off into the sunset, but I don't blame myself. I blame the North and the South Koreans because they couldn't be good neighbors and bake each other apple pies. I blame the United States because of the damned 'Police Action'. It was war, damnit! It was hunt and destroy, and every good thing in the way got destroyed right along with it. I blame the draft board for sending people over to that godforsaken place who shouldn't have been there, who weren't prepared to be there. But do I blame anyone in particular? No. I can't," the younger Pierce said. It took him a second to gather an emotional breath before he could continue.

"I saw him the minute that damned armistice was sighed. He was standing right there, silly grin under that cheesy mustache. The war was over and we'd both made it through. We were going home… I made it to my chopper, why couldn't B.J have made it to his?" Hawkeye let out another breath, the tightness in his chest receding slightly as he vocalized some of his anger and his grief. Daniel watched as his son sank further into the chair, gripping the bottle of beer as if it were a lifeline.

"Ours is not to question why," Daniel ventured as he looked down at his own beer. He looked up in surprise as Hawkeye let out a sound that was half laugh, half whimper. When he looked closer, Daniel could make out a tear track down his son's face.

"Ours is not to let them die…" the young man, who suddenly looked old, whispered to the night air. Daniel sat a moment and gave Hawkeye a moment of silence. Then, he shifted to kneel before his son's knees.

"What's this about not blaming yourself?" he asked, an eyebrow arched in doubt. Hawkeye let out a sigh, knowing full well that he could explain it all until he was blue in the face, yet Daniel Pierce would not understand. He would not understand the war, Korea itself, the friendships amidst bloodshed, nor would he understand B.J. Hunnicutt or what he meant to Hawkeye. Mainly because Hawkeye himself really didn't understand it all. With that thought, Hawkeye tipped the bottle up and drained it.

"I don't blame myself, Dad. And if you don't mind, I think we've talked this subject to death…" Hawkeye said, wincing quickly at the last. Daniel stood. He knew that for all the talking his son did, and for the tremendous effort it usually took to shut him up, Hawkeye could be stubbornly silent.

"Well, then, my presence has worn itself out, I see. I guess when you want to talk, you know where I am," he said. Hawkeye smiled as the last part reminded him of Colonel Potter. With a nod, he relayed his good night to his father. Daniel Pierce didn't say anything more as he turned and found his way out of the house. Hawkeye stood and made his way inside to dispose of his empty beverages.

"This calls for something a little harder," Hawkeye said to the now empty house. He went to pull out a bottle of bourbon and made himself another drink. Then he sat himself down in the chair his father had given to him and switched on the radio. So, Hawkeye sat, bourbon and water in his hand, as the Platters sang their haunting melody over the radio softly. When he realized that the song fit the moment, he hummed along, picking up words whenever he could.

_Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender_  
_Pretending that I'm doing well_  
_My need is such I pretend too much_  
_I'm lonely but no one can tell_  
_Oh-oh, yes I'm the great pretender_  
_Adrift in a world of my own_  
_I've played the game but to my real shame_  
_You've left me to grieve all alone_  
_Too real is this feeling of make-believe_  
_Too real when I feel what my heart can't conceal_  
_Yes, I'm the great pretender_  
_J__ust laughin' and gay like a clown_  
_I seem to be what I'm not, you see_  
_I'm wearing my heart like a crown_  
_Pretending that you're still around_

After a moment, Hawkeye reached over and switched the radio off. It was hitting a little too close to home. The madness, it seemed, would never end. He stood from the chair and went over to the screen door to watch the clouds begin to fill the night sky. He was now alone in the silence of the cottage by the bay he'd dreamt of for a full three years.

He'd stayed to help Peg for as long as he could take it – two whole days. The jokes he'd cracked and faces he'd made to keep little Erin smiling had begun to wear him down. They were no longer from the good place, the unselfish part of him. They'd started turning into an escape for him to keep from thinking about his best friend not being there anymore. It was then that he realized that being in Mill Valley was doing him, and Peg and Erin, no good. Peg Hunnicutt was a strong woman. She had her family and her daughter. The young widow would be just fine – her grief would fade over time and it would become acceptance as her support rallied around her.

But Hawkeye… for Hawkeye it was different. B.J. had _been_ his support. B.J. had been his sanity for two horrific, blood-filled years. They were supposed to get through the war aftermath together, go through midnight calls when there were nightmares, through the adjustments to real life. The 4077 gang had all been at the funeral, surprisingly… right down to Lt. Col. Frank Burns. At this juncture, you'd think everyone would want to forget the war, not come together and remember it - even for an event as important as B.J.'s funeral had been. Even Trapper had shown up; mainly to support Hawkeye since he'd never met B.J., but he'd come. Yet it hadn't been much of a comfort at all. Trapper had left. Without a goodbye. He'd ceased being Hawkeye's lifeline the moment B.J. uttered the words "Rudyard Kipling" at Kimpo.

Even though the reunion was bittersweet for the 4077 members, it hadn't done anything for Hawkeye either. They'd all scattered in the wind as soon as the funeral was over. They'd expressed their platitudes and condolences to parents, wife, child and best friend and then left to go live their lives in Iowa, Indiana, Boston, Hannibal, Toledo or wherever. And he was now back in Maine… to a life he hadn't found yet, and now, probably never will in its entirety.

B.J.'s death cemented another realization for him. No matter how decent, how undeserving, how loyal, how _good_ a person was there would always be some sort of hell waiting for them. B.J.'s had been Korea… and Hawkeye's as well. But now, it seemed his very own hell was right on here on earth, without the one person that could lift his spirits enough out of the morose that he could count himself as a functioning human being. With that thought, Hawkeye lifted his bourbon to the sky that was now filling with treacherous looking clouds. _Just like my mood_, Hawkeye thought.

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_Somewhere in __North Korea__…_

A bead of sweat rolled down his back as he stared at the exposed bone fragments before him. B.J. wasn't sure if it was the North Korean summer heat, the pain his still unhealed wounds were causing him, or the gun that was menacingly jabbed into his back every now and then just to make sure that he knew that it was there that was causing the unusual amount of perspiration. The damned war was supposed to be over. He was supposed to be back in the United States kissing Peg and Erin hello. He was supposed to be _home_… but here he was, in enemy territory doing a slapdash surgery in conditions more grotesque than a front line aide station. He didn't know where he was, how long he had been there since he'd regained consciousness, or why he was where he was. His eyes began to sting as the blood from the wound on his forehead began to slide into his vision. He reached up quickly with his dirty, ungloved hand to wipe it away… and received another jab in his back with a gun.

"Alright, already! I get that you're there circling like a pair of goddamned vultures!" B.J said angrily, fully aware that neither of his captors understood a word of what he was saying. "I can't work when I can't see! And shooting me, right now, isn't an option that you can afford…" With that, B.J. looked back down to his patient. All he knew was that it was a North Korean soldier… and he was dying. What a day for the MASH 4077 survival percentages… _Once they get a casualty to our front door, his chance of survival is 97.8 percent… That says a lot for the staff…_ Well, today might not be that day. For patient and doctor alike…

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**_A/N2 – I know that the song "The Great Pretender" didn't become a hit until 1954-ish and it's still only 1953. I'm taking my liberties with Father Time a bit and making it so that it was a song then. Sorry. I really do like to be historically accurate when I can, but sometimes, my muse won't let me… And wow… did you feel the angst in this one? Man, I feel like I need to crawl out of some dark, dank hole or something! But then again… angst is good… And not to spoil anything upcoming, but there may be a larger cameo by Trapper seeing as he seems to be growing on me a little bit at a time… So, hope y'all liked it so far! Let me know what you think!_**


	2. Part 2

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_November, '53… __North Korea__…_

He'd long since forgotten the sound of Peg's voice. But he dreamed of her all the same. He dreamed of Erin, too. But she didn't call him 'daddy'. He also dreamed of Hawkeye… and it was that very pair of laughing blue eyes that made him sit up straight in the dark. B.J. looked across the dirt floor to the place where – if he'd been at the 4077 – his best friend would have slept. Instead, it was empty. The pillow he would have thrown at a memory… it was nothing but an uncomfortably bunched up shirt.

It was hard being alone here, without someone to tease or to play jokes on, or to just talk to. And it was safe to bet that there would be no letters here. He was unaccustomed to the silence, with only his thoughts and an occasional renegade round of gunfire as company. And only in the dark of this ramshackle hut was he allowed to tend to the injuries that snipers and landmines alike had inflicted upon his tired body a few long months ago.

A bullet had grazed his arm, which had caused him to veer off the dirt road heading towards Seoul – towards _home_. It hadn't been bad. A simple bandage had later stopped the bleeding. It was the one thing that was completely healed since then. The crash off the motorcycle itself hadn't been bad either, but it had bruised up his shoulder pretty bad. It was still sore, even now. But that was nowhere near what happened to the North Korean that had tried to take the bike to escape on. He had ended up blown to pieces when he'd inadvertently stepped on his own landmine. It was, by far, the most horrendous thing B.J. had seen up close since coming to Korea. Sad thing was, Hawkeye had been right. A person did get used to the destruction. So, he hadn't blinked an eye when various limbs and shrapnel were thrown in his direction from the blast. A large piece of the metal shrapnel had narrowly missed becoming a permanent addition to his head, leaving a nice gash stretching from his left temple to the middle of his forehead. After that first night of enforced surgery, he'd been able to cleanse the wound as best he could and bandage it sufficiently. The deeper parts of the injury were still in the scab stages since he couldn't seem to keep from scratching it.

Since that day, he'd performed at least thirty to forty more haphazard surgeries… many he knew would end up fatal a week or so down the road due to the near rusty implements he was allowed to use. There was nothing B.J. could do… for the patients, _or_ for himself. All day long, unless there were wounded, he was locked in the small hut with little food, little water, little sanity and heavy guard. He'd quit trying to get out on his own, and was close to losing hope that anyone would find him. After a thorough inspection on his first night here, B.J. realized that his dog tags were missing. It had been enough, in the beginning, to give him hope that someone would be able to track him down and get him out of Korea for the rest of eternity.

But according to the tick marks he'd begun to engrave on one of the wooden posts, it had been almost four months since that first gruesome surgery. And heaven knows how long he'd been out before then. Did they know where he was? Was Peg worried at all? Was _anyone_ going to come for him? Dead or alive… it didn't matter much to him at that point. Where were Colonel Coner and his band of body hunters when you needed them? Had that whole 'every fallen boy deserves an American coffin' been a bunch of propagandist bull-shit? Well, it was beginning to look like it…

B.J. let out a sigh as he lay back down on his uncomfortable, makeshift pillow. He could add 'little sleep' to the growing list of things he was going without. When he lay alone in the dirt, all he could hope was that Hawkeye made it home okay, and sane. He could hope that his darling Peggy wasn't sick with worry for him. He could hope that everyone in the unit was well on their way to living long, happy lives. And he could only hope that death would take him before his usefulness to the North Koreans waned.

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

_March '54… Crabapple Cove, __Maine__…_

Hawkeye smiled down at the young boy who was now sucking on a lollipop. Using the distraction, the doctor stuck the needle as gently as he could into the boy's arm. The boy, young Timothy Lockwell, didn't bat an eyelash. Just continued to suck on the candy. Hawkeye let out a chuckle and he stood up straight to address Timmy's mother.

"Oh to be young, carefree and absolutely infatuated with everything sugar," he joked. Melissa Lockwell smiled back.

"It would certainly cut down on a lot of the world's problems," she said as she picked up her son, who was still licking at the lollipop. Hawkeye nodded as he filled out the chart in front of him.

"Oh yes. Peace negotiations would involve naps, cookies and who got to play with the big red ball. The only world-wide epidemic would be a severe case of the cooties," he said jovially. He signed his name to the chart and handed it to his nurse. Then he stood and faced mother and son.

"Now… Mr. Lockwell… you are safe from the plague on mankind normally known as poliomyelitis. What's a little sting compared to the possibility of an unexplainable attachment to a certain kind of wheeled transportation? And I'm not talking about the type that will give your mother premature grey hairs from the frustration of teenage rebellion. Side effects of your inoculation will be extreme playfulness, unexplainable urges for chocolate chip cookies, and politeness towards your mother. And under no circumstances are you supposed to drive for 24 hours, mister," Hawkeye said with a mock stern look on his face, a finger pointed at the young boy. Timmy, who had no understanding of what his doctor was talking about, giggled anyway at the man's funny face. Mrs. Lockwell grinned as she bounced her boy a couple of times in her arms.

"Thank you," she said. "We've missed you around these parts, Dr. Pierce. We were sad to see you go before you could cause trouble with your own practice. Crabapple Cove is proud of you and we're glad to have you back with us." Hawkeye smiled appreciatively as he put a hand at her shoulder to guide them out.

"Thank you," he said, opening the door to the waiting room for the two of them.

"We were also sad to hear about your friend… the one from your unit…" she said. Hawkeye's jovial mood flew out the window, but he kept the smile on his face as not to hurt Mrs. Lockwell's feelings.

"Yes… well… who says war is fair to doctors? Soldiers can't have _all_ the fun," he said. Then, Mrs. Lockwell looked pained as she laid her free hand on his arm.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up," she said. Hawkeye shook his head.

"No, it's alright. At least now I understand all of the casseroles and pies. For a while there I thought, perhaps, that I wasn't notified about being a judge in the county fair cooking contest…" he joked. Mrs. Lockwell let out a small laugh as she pat his arm.

"We here in Crabapple Cove take care of our own. You know that," she said. For a moment, Hawkeye was transported back in time to when his mother died. There had been food stashed on every available space in the Pierce house to last a year – which had been a good thing for the Piece men. They could both tell you what a thoracic artery was or how to take out an appendix blindfolded, but they had both been completely helpless when it came to the culinary arts.

"Yes, I do know that," he said. Then, with a last smile to the young boy and a friendly good-bye to his mother, Hawkeye escaped into the back rooms. In exam room three, his legs buckled just as he neared a chair. A shaking hand came up to wipe his hair back from his forehead. Then, he brought his still-shaking hand down so that he could look at it. He studied the trembling appendage for a second before letting it drop to his knee. It was the reason he hadn't taken the position as Chief of Surgery at Mercy Hospital in Portland. He didn't have the head or the hands for that type of responsibility.

He consulted often, though, and even made the short trip to do special surgeries himself when they called for him. Hawkeye knew that he couldn't trust himself with a steady hand day in and day out. Not right now. The slower pace of his father's practice was enough to get him through the day. The occasional call to Portland helped to feed the surgeon's ego for now. It had been almost five months since he'd been back.

It was a gift in its own right that no one expected him to be perfect or unscarred or the Benjamin Franklin Pierce of old. But with that said, Hawkeye knew he had to get a grip on himself. If anyone happened to mention the war, it usually sent him teetering on the edge. But the mention of B.J. usually knocked him right over. The panic attacks had subsided somewhat, but it was the shaking fits that took their place in causing problems. He was a doctor. He knew that it was all psychosomatic… all in his head. But his head was troubled. And he knew it. After he flexed his hands a few times, Hawkeye stood and went to the front desk.

"Any more appointments?" he asked the pretty young secretary, Patty. She smiled up at him.

"No, Dr. Pierce. Timmy Lockwell was the last for the evening," she told him. Hawkeye let out a breath.

"Good. This medical genius is going to go rest his brain at home," he said, slipping out of his lab coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

"Your father has early appointments tomorrow, but you don't have one scheduled until eleven," Patty reported. Hawkeye nodded.

"Good. I won't be in until then," he said and was about to turn to leave when Patty leveled him with a look. "What?"

"You avoided paperwork all day today. So… you'd better come in to fill out the report on Mrs. Germaine's lab work, I need your authorization to order more supplies, and I have a stack of papers that need your signature," she said. Hawkeye smiled slightly. His secretary certainly wasn't as organized and knowledgeable as Radar O'Reilly had been, but she certainly had the same paper fetish. How Colonel Potter had put up with it was beyond him.

"Fine. I'll be in at nine," he grumbled good-naturedly. Patty smiled before she waved.

"Have a good night!" she called.

"I was going to, until you browbeat me into coming back," he said back.

"See you at nine."

"I'm calling in sick!"

"You wouldn't dare," she warned. Hawkeye gave her a look.

"Oh wouldn't I?" he asked. Patty shook her head as she made a shooing motion with her hands.

"Get out of here before I'm forced to tell the population of Crabapple Cove they've trusted their health and well being into the hands of a two-year-old trapped in a man's body," she said. Hawkeye grinned.

"And tell all my secrets? You wouldn't dare…" he said in parting shot before stepping out the front door.

Winter was far from over, but early spring in Maine still held a bone-deep chill that could rival the preceding months. The sun was just starting to set and, thankfully, home was just a few blocks away. All Hawkeye wanted at this precise moment was to have a good tall glass of scotch, or brandy, or bourbon… or all three together. So, with his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his olive drab military issue jacket and his head hung low, he started his walk. It was funny really that the jacket was the only thing from the war that he could stand to look at, much less wear. It was the only thing that had survived an angry, spur-of-the-moment backyard funeral pyre dedicated solely to ridding himself of everything Korea. The jacket itself sported a few charred places since it hadn't been spared an attempt. Hawkeye had grabbed it from the flames as soon as it had started to smolder. He hadn't been able to do it. The emphatic purge to rid himself completely of Korea had failed.

It was funny how he had a life before Korea; a life he'd wanted back desperately. But now, his life seemed to be defined by that small spit of a country. B.J. was in Korea. B.J. would always _be_ in Korea. All of Hawkeye's memories of him involved that damned country. There was going to be no making of new ones. So… getting rid of Korea would be getting rid of B.J. It was something that Hawkeye was both incapable and unwilling to do. And it was usually moments when he thought of that particular subject that he wished he could have just _one_ memory of B.J. that didn't involve the war. Just _one_… it wasn't all that much to ask.

The walk home became an automatic function to Hawkeye. He didn't let his gaze wander over the neighborhood nor did he study the season's budding colors on the trees.

Only when he stepped inside his cottage did he let himself become aware. It was a safe place. It didn't change. He could look out the back window and see the coastline for miles. He could expect the trees of his childhood to still be there. Hawkeye knew each and every creak in the floorboards. Granted, his father no longer inhabited the house… but it was still the same. It was the same solitude that he'd enjoyed as a child, as an adolescent. It was the same solitude that he'd craved while serving the 4077.

It wasn't that he was alone in the world. That was one thing Hawkeye knew and didn't take for granted. He had family and friends, both near and far. Trapper had even called a few weeks ago. There really hadn't been much to talk about with him, though. Potter had also called. And so had Margaret. 'To check up on him' was the standard answer of most _everyone_ that decided to call. If it hadn't pointed out his tenuous grip on sanity with bells and whistles aplenty, Hawkeye would have been touched.

He walked to the kitchen after entering the house and without taking off his coat or even closing the door against the cool spring breeze, he opened one of the cupboards. He took down the untouched bottle of gin that his father had brought him as a homecoming gift… then took down a glass as well before going to sit at the kitchen table. Hawkeye set the bottle in front of him and the glass directly next to it. The gin was unopened and the glass was spotless… and that was how they stayed for a full twenty minutes.

All Hawkeye could do was stare. It wasn't that hard to twist the cap off and pour himself a small amount. It wasn't that hard to lift the glass and swallow, either. But both actions seemed to stall in his mind. Gin was his first choice of poison – not much of a choice, but still a choice – for three whole years. What would one more drink be? Especially since this was the good stuff, not the fire water that they'd stilled in their tent. Shaking his head sadly, Hawkeye stood and picked up the unopened bottle. He crossed the room to the sink and with a harsh twist, opened the container and proceeded to pour the entire contents down the drain. 'One more' would be sacrilege to memories it would be best for him to forget.

Just as the last drop slipped down the sink, Hawkeye could hear a knock at the front door. The only person brave enough in Crabapple Cove to venture up to the door of his home was his father. And Daniel Pierce always walked right in. So, who dared to knock? Hawkeye set the empty gin bottle down on the counter and made his way towards the front door. He could see the shadowed shape of a tall figure standing on the other side of the screen door, but couldn't make anything else out in the twilight light. It was when he was a few feet away that Hawkeye could make out the definitive curls and the wide, dimpled chin he'd known every day for a year.

"Hi," Trapper said simply as he watched Hawkeye make his way slowly to the door. Hawkeye looked past the man to where the car sat. Trapper's car. With Massachusetts license plates.

"You made a special trip up here just to say hi?" Hawkeye asked without preamble. Trapper looked a little uncomfortable.

"Well, that, and I'm sorry you're still mad at me," he said. Hawkeye let out a breath as he held the screen door open and stepped aside for his friend to enter.

"Trap… it's not you that I'm mad at. Not anymore," the dark-haired doctor admitted. Trapper looked honestly surprised.

"Really? I honestly don't think the last phone conversation we had could have been any shorter…" he commented as he took off his coat. Hawkeye was silent as he led the other man into the kitchen and set another glass on the table. He filled in half full with the bourbon that had been waiting for him and then sat down. Trapper followed suit and downed the alcohol in two swallows. Hawkeye looked down at the liquid before continuing.

"For the two years remaining of the war, being mad at you was just easier. You got to go home, okay? I kept thinking 'What made you so special?' Why did you get to go after just over a year and I had to stay for the whole damn thing?" Hawkeye asked to no one in particular. Trapper was silent for a moment as he watched his friend twirl his still-full glass aimlessly.

"You were just too good, I think, Hawk," he said. Hawkeye looked up other man.

"Too good? Come on, Trap… I don't need my ego fed anymore. I wasn't too good. I was just a pair of hands to the United States government. I hated that war. I would have given anything, _said_ anything, even turned _communist_ to go home," he said angrily. Trapper smiled.

"I think that could have been part of the reason you weren't first in line to go home."

"Oh? How so? If you were running the war, wouldn't _you_ want to get rid of the loose screw?" Hawkeye asked.

"I'd take it out or tighten it. Strangely enough, they took out this loose screw," Trapper said, pointing to himself. And then he pointed to Hawkeye. "And they tightened that loose screw."

"Enough with the metaphors. So they took you out and kept me in. What did it save, really?" he asked.

"Lives…" Trapper answered. Hawkeye looked up in surprise. Trapper just smiled. "Any other surgeon – perhaps one like myself – would have snapped. They looked at you and saw the best, all while purposely ignoring your zany ways, of course. But it wasn't just your skill that made you so valuable. It was the fact that even though you despised the war, taken it upon yourself to protest against the war even while serving in it, and were about as un-military as you could get, you worked your ass off to save those boys. A lesser man would have given up, or screwed up to go home. You did neither." Hawkeye thought over Trapper's words, and then nodded once, accepting the theory.

"I lost it at the end, you know. I don't know if anyone told you, but I did. I was sent off to Tokyo to visit our good friend Sidney. I watched a young mother smother her infant to death… and I lost it. I don't know what would have happened if that war had gone on any longer," Hawkeye said, somewhat ashamed. Trapper reached across the small table to grip the other man's shoulder.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Hawk. You're not God. You performed your own variety of miracles on the wounded, and the rest of us. But sometimes the savior needs to be saved. It's nothing to feel bad about. When I got home, it took _months_ of therapy for me to actually talk to my daughters. I'd shut that part of me off, you see, because I'd had to when kids their age were put on my table. It took me longer to actually pick up a scalpel. I physically couldn't do it. So you took a _week_ or so in Tokyo to come to grips with the fragile human psyche. It only proves that you're a stronger man than most," Trapper reassured his friend. Hawkeye didn't say anything. They sat in silence for a moment.

"I don't know if I've really come to grips with anything. I mean, the war is over. I should be ecstatic about it. But it was the war that killed him – even when it was over. To forget the war is to forget him. How can you want to fix something that's so obviously broken, but not be sure you want it fixed in the first place?" the dark-haired man asked miserably.

"You just need to deal with it, plain and simple," Trapper said. Hawkeye gave the other man a look.

"Easier said than done, Dr. McIntyre," he said. Trapper shrugged.

"We're in the dark on how to help you, Hawk. Really… we don't know. Potter, myself, Radar, even Sidney… none of us know. There are days you are fine. But then there are days you're not. When we talk to you on those days, we can never tell if it has do with B.J. or if it has to do with the war. And since we don't know that, we can't help. You don't talk to us, Hawk. Not beyond the superficial, anyway. You don't talk to anybody. And we're worried that it's…" Trapper said, but trailed off. Hawkeye's eyes snapped up.

"It's what? Going to drive me crazy? It's going to make me loony? Well guess what… I was crazy before all the… Korea. Just ask my homeroom teacher. Ask little Lizzie Baker from my third grade class, who ain't so little any more. Talk to my med school professors. They'd be glad to tell you that I'd lost a few of my marbles, that a few too many feathers had been plucked, that the nuts and bolts rattle around a little too much…" Hawkeye said, standing so that he could pace. Trapper moved to say something, but Hawkeye continued on.

"And it's oh-so-good to know I'm the subject of numerous cross-country conversations. Maybe everyone should start a radio show or something. You could call it 'Coping With the War Wacko'. You could syndicate…" he said angrily, his paces becoming a little more pronounced, his hand gestures becoming a little wilder.

"Calm down, Hawk. It's not just us. Your father's worried too," Trapper said. Hawkeye stopped pacing and gave Trapper a wide-eyed look.

"You all talk to my _father_ about me!" he asked. "What am I? Two years old? Is this some sort of parent-teacher conference about the state of my mental health? How am I doing? Has there been a consensus on whether or not I get a passing grade?" Trapper held up a hand to stop his friend's tirade.

"Stop, Hawk. Whether you want it or not, we're allowed to be worried about you. You gave each of us at the 4077 something to help get us through whatever part of the war we were there for. Now let us return the favor by trying to help you through this. You just need to talk to us," he said. Hawkeye stopped pacing and was silent as he thought over his former bunk mate's words. With a sigh, Hawkeye sat his lanky frame back on the chair he'd abandoned.

"I know… and thanks. To know you all are willing to do that… it means a lot to me. And despite my initial welcome, I'm glad you're here," Hawkeye said. Trapper smiled.

"I'm certainly no B.J. Somehow, the man was able to put up with your for two whole years. He's a shoe-in candidate for sainthood, I'm sure. But I'd like to think you and I are still friends," the Bostonian said. Hawkeye smiled back.

"Of course we're still friends, Trap… you got me through that miserable first year there. Don't think I've forgotten that," Hawkeye said. Trapper nodded.

"I know. Just like I know that we'd like to forget it as well, along with a lot of other things," he noted. Hawkeye smirked.

"Yeah. I'd like to forget that trip through the mess tent in nothing but combat boots and a hat," he said. Trapper laughed.

"My God… I'd almost suppressed that. I'd like to think the whole camp has," Trapper chuckled.

"Yeah… and the worst part is I didn't even win that stupid bet," Hawkeye grumbled. The small, tentative trip down memory lane was interrupted when the telephone rang. Hawkeye rolled his eyes as he stood to cross the room.

"If it's Radar, hopefully his ability to predict the near future will prevent him from being offended when I hang up on him… If it's anyone else, they'll just have to live with the disappointment," he said before picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" he asked. Trapper watched as his friend smiled a genuine smile.

"Hello! It's good to hear from you. How's… Good? That's good. Is everything okay?" Hawkeye asked almost hesitantly. There was a moment of silence in the house as Hawkeye listened to the mysterious caller's side of the conversation. The smile that was on Hawkeye's face slipped slightly, but the tone of his voice continued on in a faux-happy manner.

"Oh? And when did this happen?" he asked. "Well… I suppose the world just can't stop. I understand that… I'm glad for you. You deserve it…" Trapper was getting more confused the longer the one-sided conversation went on.

"That's… that's good. I'm happy for you. I'm… very happy… for you," Hawkeye stammered. "No, no, no. That's not it. No… I'll certainly try. Surprisingly enough, summer is my busy season, but I will definitely try. Don't worry. Yes… I'll let you know as soon as I can. Of course… yes… it's good to hear your voice too. Yes… I'll talk to you soon… Bye…" Hawkeye hung up the phone slowly

"What's wrong?" Trapper asked as Hawkeye visibly paled.

"That…" Hawkeye started, clearing his throat quickly. "That was Peg Hunnicutt…" Trapper nodded.

"And what did she have to say?" he asked. Hawkeye walked slowly back to the table and sat down.

"She's… engaged," he said. Trapper frowned.

"Is it not okay?" he asked. Hawkeye was silent for a moment, trying to adjust to the information.

"I… I don't know. She said she'd like me to be at the wedding in June. It was like… it was almost like she was asking _me_ for _B.J.'s_ permission. And… and I don't know… what to think. I should be happy for her that she found someone to love again. But… it's like she's betraying B.J. somehow. I was there, you know. I saw how B.J. loved that woman to distraction. She and Erin were his entire focus. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't mention them. And now…" Hawkeye said. Trapper smiled.

"Peg Hunnicutt is still young… do you expect her to live the rest of her life alone?" he asked.

"God, no. I wouldn't wish loneliness on anyone. Especially someone as nice as Peg. It's just that it's only been eight months. How could she… how did she find…" Hawkeye stumbled to a stop.

"How did she find the way to move past it and you couldn't?" Trapper ventured. Hawkeye looked up, surprised.

"Been taking lessons from Radar, have we?" he asked. Trapper chuckled as he shook his head.

"No, but then, it doesn't take a genius," he told his friend.

"Rules you out then cuz you're not even close…" Hawkeye threw back. Trapper gave him a 'ha ha' look.

"Keep in mind that for three years, Peg Hunnicutt didn't have B.J. by her side. _You_ did. For her, he'd been gone before he died. Denial is a funny thing, but then, so is acceptance…" Hawkeye frowned at that thought.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well… that first night I got home, Louise said that she really hadn't thought of me as alive until the moment I stepped off the plane and she was able to see me. For a year, she thought she'd never see me again. I can only imagine how a woman who hadn't seen her husband for _three_ years would hold up under the strain," Trapper said.

"That's morbid…" Hawkeye commented. Trapper nodded once.

"It may be, but the mind comes up with interesting ways to cope. Just talk to Sidney about that," he said. Hawkeye let out a snort.

"Already have, thanks," he said. Then, he interlaced his fingers together and looked down at them. "I'm not sure I want to really talk about this anymore… but thanks for giving me a few things to think about." Trapper nodded.

"Hey, I'm just glad we were able to talk a little bit. We covered more ground than the 'How's the weather in Boston' talks we usually have," he said. The corner of Hawkeye's lip twitched.

"Yeah, well…" he started.

"How 'bout a game of chess?" Trapper interrupted, effectively changing the subject. Hawkeye shrugged.

"Sounds okay. Dad's been itching for a game. Wouldn't hurt to brush up a little before he effectively kicks my tookus… I really should challenge him to a game of Crinko one of these days…" he said while standing. Trapper grinned as he waved a hand in front of him.

"Lead the way…" he said. As Trapper began to chat about inconsequential things, Hawkeye's mind wandered slightly. Denial, acceptance, denial, acceptance… the words were so different, yet when stripped bare, they both relied on the same principle: not thinking of that which causes pain. Hawkeye threw the words back and forth in his mind as he and Trapper walked out of the kitchen. Now, if only he could pick one or the other. It would be so much better than the state he was in now…

"Have I told you that you can be pretty smart on occasion?" Hawkeye asked his friend as they made themselves comfortable in the living room. One of Trapper's eyebrows went up.

"Not recently. But then you also haven't told me how brilliant, wonderful, magnificent, don't forget altogether beautiful…" the other man started to list. Hawkeye rolled his eyes as he began to set up the chess board.

"You're smelly too," he said dryly. Trapper grinned as he placed pieces where they needed to go.

"Can't be too perfect, now can I?" he said. Hawkeye shrugged.

"A fatal flaw is the remedy for perfection," he said. "We'd have a time machine by now if only it would stop making toast…" Trapper laughed.

**OOOOOOOOOOOOO**

_North Korea__…_

B.J. sat, arms resting tiredly on his knees and his head hanging between them. _Eight months…_ He'd been in this god-awful encampment for eight whole months. Somehow, he'd survived the bitter cold of the Korean winter. He'd been sick most of the time, but at least he'd made it through. His captors had been nice enough to get him a cot and a single blanket. Guess they didn't want their star (sole) surgeon to freeze up and die on them just yet. If anyone had asked B.J. what these people were up to that eventually made them pass in front of B.J.'s scalpel at all hours in the day he would have no clue. As far as he was concerned, the war was over. But it seemed that there was some – this seedy, unscrupulous group he was with among them – that seemed disinclined to believing it. For some of the young boys that had come into his not-so-sterile care, it was a waste. They were so young to die for something that, as far as B.J – and the United States - was concerned, didn't exist anymore…

It was nearing Erin's birthday. She'd be four this year. Four years… he'd missed her first tooth, he'd missed her first step, and he'd missed her first word… There were a lot of those he'd missed, and it was painful to think about. And when he finally got home – if he got home – she wouldn't have a clue as to who he was. B.J. let out a sigh as he picked up the blanket. It was early spring, so it was still cold. The Koreans had dumped him back in here after an extremely long night of surgeries. It had been one after another. From bullet wounds to broken limbs. And now, it was almost dawn.

The guard would be there soon to give him what could barely pass as breakfast. It usually consisted of a half-stale piece of bread, a small piece of fruit that B.J. could swear someone had already taken the liberty of starting for him, and a small glass of water that barely quenched his thirst. It was those moments he was staring down at such _unsullied_ nourishment that he wished for the leather-like beef chunks or the rock hard peas… or even the often unidentifiable meatloaf of the MASH mess tent. B.J. shook his head at the thought… but more to keep himself awake than anything. If he missed the guard with his breakfast, he wouldn't get food for the rest of the day. He'd learned that one the hard way and would rather not go through it again. Especially if he was dragged to the small hut across the way to work 20 hours on 2 hours of sleep.

He was having a hard enough time keeping his thoughts in line on a good day, _with_ sleep and food. It was becoming even harder to do so when his days stretched to those hellish 20 hour stints that required his medical skills. A person would think that after eight months of having nothing _but _thoughts, he'd be in control of them. But it was not the case. The long nights of working followed by the short days of sleep were hard on his system. He alternated back and forth from working so much that he actually perspired so much he could be mistake for a water fountain, and doing so little that he could give a frozen slab of beef a run for its money. There was no way he was going to survive this if the patterns continued. He'd either end up shot for failing to accomplish his North Korean captors' minimal standards or he'd work himself to death. Neither was an appealing way to go.

He'd have to get out of there. If he wanted any chance at all at getting home, he'd have to do it himself. If he died in the process it would probably be a better way to go than what any of the North Koreans were planning for him in the end. With that thought taking precedence over all others, B.J. began to take a survey of _everything_ with new awareness.

It was up to him now… that is, if it hadn't been all along. All he needed now was a plan. And he'd certainly have the time alone to think of one.

**O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O**

**_To be continued..._**


	3. Part 3

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

_June '54… __San Francisco, __California_

Hawkeye tugged uncomfortably at the tie around his neck. He could count the times he'd had to wear a tie in the past ten years on one hand… It was a beautiful California day and yet he wished he were back in a cool, sure-to-be-drizzly Maine. In fact… considering his personal views on marriage and his own apprehension of the institution, he'd rather be in Hell. But he couldn't help the small smile as he watched little Erin Hunnicutt walk down the small, make-shift aisle to where her soon-to-be stepfather stood. Hawkeye had to hand it to Peg. She had to have found the two best men on earth to choose to be married to. David Layne was a stand-up guy and Hawkeye couldn't find fault with him. He worshipped Peggy and absolutely adored Erin, but he was no B.J. Granted, David Layne also hadn't gone to war and hadn't been stuck in olive drab government lodgings with Hawkeye for two years, so he was really in no position to compare the two men. Instead, David had befriended Peg in the two years that B.J had been gone, only becoming romantically involved with her a while after B.J's funeral. In a way, David had become Peg's own Hawkeye Pierce. How could he find fault in that?

It was quite surreal to watch a woman he really didn't know – but strangely enough, knew better than most – get married. Bea and Jay Hunnicutt sat in the front row among the bride's family and watched with bittersweet smiles as their only grandchild walked happily down the aisle spreading smiles and flower petals in her wake.

It was supposed to be a happy event, and for everyone else, it was. But for Hawkeye, this was an event that cemented his best friend's death. Oh, he'd known in before – but this was saying that life moved on. Peg Hunnicutt of Mill Valley was now Peg Layne of San Francisco. A change of scenery for a changed woman. It didn't seem right. And it was worse than knowing. Hawkeye wondered if the hole in Peg's heart was just as big as the one in his own. But at least she had something to start to fill it. Or some_one_…

The girl-chasing, Lothario-like ways Captain B.F. Pierce had been known for had found an early grave that day in Kimpo with Colonel Potter by his side. The life he'd once led in Korea had blown away like dust in the wind. His only company these days were his father, on the days that the elder Pierce was glutton for punishment, and a bottle of aged scotch. His friends, who had once clamored to be around the jokester and often called him perpetually adolescent, now rarely stopped by and called him perpetually world-weary. It was a description of himself that he couldn't help but agree with. And because of that internal grayness, he'd held off until the last minute on whether or not to show up for this wedding. So, he'd shown up at the church just as the organ began to play. He'd stood out front for a few minutes, the awkward tie starting to close around his throat like a noose. He'd gone in, of course, and sat way in the back.

But Peg – the ever saintly, ever perfect Peg – had seen him and sent him a small smile before taking her soon-to-be husband's arm. Hawkeye smiled back, but then his eyes strayed to the dark-haired man at her side.

David Layne was short. He was as short as B.J had been tall. And Hawkeye couldn't help but compare the two men. He couldn't blame Peg for finding a man the complete opposite of her former husband. Yet, still, it fit. As he was sure that Peg standing next to B.J had made sense, he could see that this made sense as well.

Hawkeye sighed heavily as he sat in that very back row. The people in front of him looked back at him curiously, and all he could do was smile at them. He'd made his peace with this. That was all that mattered. It was as if these past few months he'd been hurting _for_ B.J. And he had been. And now, that small, simple smile from a serenely beautiful Peg had calmed that spirit. He could go home and tip his glass to the sky and tell his best friend that things were going to be alright. He was glad he came.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

_October '54… __North Korea_

B.J watched carefully when the guards escorted him back to his lodgings… if you could call them that. It appeared that his captors were some sort of sub par North Korean militia. They'd probably been trying to raid out the part of Korea the 4077 had been in as soon as the military presence was no more. When he'd been the last to leave, he'd been unfortunate enough to ride straight into the crossfire. And this is where he ended up because of his blind naivety. Just because the war was over for America did not mean it was over for either Korea. Yet he'd been stupid enough to believe it for however long it took for him to get captured. It was what the afterglow of the 'end of the war' did to him.

So, now he was relegated to watching for his opportunity… and he felt that it was close at hand. B.J noted that the phrase 'sub par' was key in his earlier description. There weren't nearly enough strongly armed men to go after him should he find a way to duck out of his accommodations. And the evened odds of sorts gave him a little more hope than he'd been privy to in the past few weeks. It was all he needed at the moment… that and a plan, which he was developing a little more each day and with every observation he made.

The plan so far was to wait for the impending storm he knew was coming. The last time he'd seen the outside during daylight, the sky had been dismally gray. B.J knew that the Korean storms could be just as harsh as the summer heat and the winter cold. He was counting on that little fact. The storm would be the first they had in months it seemed. So the tiny makeshift encampment would be busy keeping itself afloat. Too busy in fact to notice that their 5'4, clean-shaven Korean door guard had transformed into a 6'4, bearded American escapee running into the woods. And with the limited munitions they seemed to have, B.J knew that if he could make it to those woods, he wouldn't have to worry about them coming after him. He'd just have to worry about Mother Nature then… and he liked his odds.

His fingers worked quickly, under armed watch, as they pieced together another nameless, faceless patient. According to the gestures from his captors, this one was the last for the evening. B.J held his impatience in check in these long stints of enforced solitary triage and surgery by occasionally trying to recite the Hippocratic Oath in his head. He never did remember it all, but it was always a solitary thought that snuck up and kept him from bashing everyone's face in… North Koreans on the table included.

_Into whatever houses I enter, I will go into them for the benefit of the sick, and will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption._

B.J chuckled at the thought. He remembered a time at the 4077 that Hawkeye had chewed out a patient and B.J had to check his friend's temper. B.J'd laughingly asked his dark-haired bunkmate at a later confrontation if he was mad that B.J had more control over his temper. "_You want me to apologize because I'm more rational than you?"_ Well, he'd later proven that his touted rationality ran a fine line. After the whole fiasco, Hawkeye had told him that there would be a time that the rationality would run away and never come back. Lassie wouldn't come home. It was what war eventually did to a person. Hawkeye had then laughed that B.J's had held on longer than most because before it all he had truly been a fairly naive, good and decent person untouched by the ugliness of war. It had taken longer for Korea to get to Captain Hunnicutt than it had for Captain Pierce. The latter's rationality had swooped out the window the minute he'd read his draft letter.

B.J had hoped he'd held at least a tenuous grip on that rationality by the time American occupation came to an end. Yet as the gun was jabbed into his kidney one more time and the wish to take the scalpel in his hand and inflict all the amount of pain he'd endured all these months, all he could see was Hawkeye's 'I told you so' smirk.

_While I continue to keep this Oath unviolated, may it be granted to me to enjoy life and the practice of the art, respected by all men, in all times. But should I trespass and violate this Oath, may the reverse be my lot._

Looking down at the broken man on the table with a tense and shaking hand, B.J wondered when, exactly, his rationality had packed its bags.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

The storm came earlier than he predicted, but that didn't mean B.J was any less prepared. A harsh tap of the rain woke him in the middle of his little sleep. It was only the third rain of the long, excruciating, Korean summer. And he was pretty sure it wasn't even summer anymore. But the rain made him as giddy as a schoolboy. He grinned to himself as he looked out the small window and saw the entire camp scrambling around trying to batten down the hatches. Supplies were being dragged to drier spots, roofs were being patched up as last minute leaks made themselves known… it was just short of chaos. It was his time to move out.

Jumping off the cot, he went over to the ramshackle door. The guard stood at attention with his M-16 pointed to the door. Taking a deep breath, B.J tapped against the door. It caught the guard's notice and he turned to look at him.

"It's leaking in here," B.J said. He then did a quick gesture to mime the leak. The guard watched him for a second and then hit the door with the barrel of his gun, an unspoken demand for B.J to back away from the door. B.J did as he was instructed and picked up the metal tray that had brought his dinner. He heard the clicking of the locks as the guard brought him closer to freedom and lifted the tray, ready to strike.

_…will abstain from every voluntary act of mischief and corruption…_

The voice couldn't help itself as B.J prepared to inflict injury in exchange for his freedom. The Oath be damned. These North Koreans didn't give a damn about him. What was one of them for the hundreds he'd already saved?

As the door swung open, B.J pounced, swinging the tray with all the might his six-foot frame could allow under duress. It met the shorter man's head with a sickening 'thunk'. Weapon and keys fell to the floor, as did their owner. B.J couldn't help that sick feeling in his stomach as he stared down at the unconscious guard. _"Always the peace-maker…"_ Hawkeye's voice scolded as it had in its original intent. It got B.J moving again and he bent down to take the helmet, gun and keys from the man.

Then, he picked the North Korean up and placed him on the sorry excuse for a cot and covered him with the even sorrier excuse for a blanket. Without a second hesitation, B.J went out the door and locked the man in. With a careful look around and a hunching of his significantly taller form, B.J slipped around the side of the building and began the 100-some-odd-yard journey to wooded sanctuary. It would be the most dangerous part of this escape. If only… and his thought was cut off as there was a streak of lightning that lit up the sky. The overly dry summer had worked to B.J's advantage as it lit up a grassy patch on the other side of the road. North Koreans were running around the place, rushing water to the spot and paying no attention to where their prisoner should have been.

_"You two were reprimanded by Major Burns for setting fire to the latrine…"  
__"That was an accident..."  
__"... we were having a weenie roast."  
__"In the latrine?"  
__"We're not allowed to cook in our tents..."_

The first conversation he'd ever had with Colonel Sherman Potter rang through his head at the smell of the fire. He grinned as he ran the entire 100 yards to the forest.

The sudden activity and blood rush through his body made him feel slightly dizzy as he stumbled into the trees. There had been no shouts of warning or the stampede of feet in chase behind him. For that, B.J was extremely grateful. He was pretty sure he didn't have the energy to run any more in this heavy rain. In fact, he felt like passing out. But he knew if he did that, he'd either drown in the puddle that would form around him or he'd be caught. Neither option really appealed to him, so he trudged through the newly formed mud.

He walked and walked, hoping to find something that looked even slightly familiar. It would be light out soon and he crossed his fingers that he was headed in the right direction. Whatever that direction was. When you were stuck in a place for two years, familiarity and direction became relative.

B.J wandered a bit from the beaten path after a while…. Or what was actually was a severely bombed, narrow, farming road. The rain had slowed to a slow drizzle as he had walked, the morning light making the sky a dismal and ugly gray. He'd walked along for a little while, hoping that life would stir somewhere and point him in the right direction. It was difficult, with the path he followed next, to think of that decision to stray from the main road as anything other than the worst of his life. He stumbled over a hidden root and went tumbling end over end down the hill that the road wound around, hitting every branch, rock and root along the way. B.J tuned out the pain as he neared the bottom of the hill. Instead, he marveled that he'd missed hitting his head on anything. Even so, if any North Korean had taken the time or effort to follow him, he would surely be killed because he could not run away.

Just as the sun brought light to the world in stages as it rose in the early morning, so did the pain in B.J's tall frame. With a wince, he raised his head to look down at the damage. There was blood oozing from where sharp rocks had sliced his clothes to the skin. His leg was surely broken, as was an arm – or maybe a wrist. The pain was too much for him to really pinpoint the injury. His eyes then turned to roam the area and saw a clear field stretch in front of him. His useless limbs could take him no further. As darkness descended on him, BJ couldn't help but curse himself for his stupid clumsiness. Little did he know that said clumsiness would ultimately save his life.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

BJ opened his eyes. The pain he'd expected wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. With a frown, he looked around his blurry surroundings. He could have sworn that he'd been outside, in some sort of field. Rather than the stormy gray sky, he was looking up at a wood ceiling. Had the North Koreans captured him again? That thought startled him into action and BJ sat up… which he regretted instantly as a twinge of pain went through all of his broken joints. He couldn't help the swear word that slipped past his lips.

A smattering of Korean was heard to his left. He looked to see an older couple sitting there with concerned gazes directed on him.

"Where am I?" he asked, panic lacing his words. The two looked at each other and then back at him. BJ sighed.

"Do you speak English?" he asked. The couple looked at each other again and talked among themselves. It was obvious that the answer to his question was a negative. A bright light suddenly enveloped the small hut as a figure pulled back the cloth used for a door and stepped inside.

"Ah, you awake," a feminine voice said. B.J frowned.

"Where am I? Who are you?" he asked. The girl, about fourteen or fifteen, kneeled down next to him and pushed him back into a lying position. She took a cloth from the basin of water she had brought in and placed it over his forehead.

"Still warm to touch," she explained. Then she proceeded to answer his question. She nodded to the couple standing just behind her. "My father… Hung Sim Cho. Mother… Soon Cho. I Chin Cho." B.J nodded slightly in greeting.

"Doctor B.J Hunnicutt. MASH 4077. How long have I been asleep? Where am I?" he asked.

"Three days you sleep. You in South Korea," the girl said as she set a different, steaming bowl of liquid down next to him. BJ eyed it warily.

"What is that?" he asked. The girl smiled.

"It pain relieving remedy. It help you sleep," she said in her broken English.

"I've slept enough, I think," he said, watching the girl fill a small bowl. He remembered the last local remedy the 4077 employed and how awful it smelled.

"You sick with fever. You need more," the girl said as she helped B.J sit up enough to drink the liquid. He took a small sniff and was pleased to find there was barely any odor. He drank the proffered remedy without a fight. He preferred a dreamless sleep rather than the fitful images that wracked his brain for the past three days. He was relieved to get it in a few short moments. All B.J could hope was that when he woke up again, there wouldn't be guns pointed in his face…

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

When he opened his eyes again, he could hear birds chirping outside. The hut was empty and he assumed it to be morning. Light once again enveloped the small hut as Chin entered.

"We help you," she said as she set a plate of food down next to him. He eyed the fresh eggs and vegetables with hungry eyes.

"Thank you for your help," he said, reaching for a piece of food. The girl smiled.

"No… we _help_ you…" she urged. B.J still didn't catch what she was attempting to mean. Instead of trying to guess, he lifted the food in toast to her and stuck it in his mouth. He chewed greedily on the first suitable piece of food he'd eaten in nearly two years. B.J knew that he'd make himself sick if he inhaled the victuals, but he simply couldn't help himself. Before too long, the plate was completely empty, no crumb in sight. He lay back with a sigh as a nourished sleep once again overtook him.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

The jarring was what woke him. When he found himself in a farmer's cart being pulled along a small South Korean road by a donkey, he couldn't help but feel another slight twinge of panic. Colonel Potter would have called him a 'nervous nelly'. He sat up quickly, heart starting a quick staccato in his chest as he imagined being sold to the North Korean army in exchange for whatever this family may need. For a brief second, B.J wondered what his life was worth.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, startling the girl walking next to the cart. Chin placed a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Take you to Seoul," she said. "Find your home…" B.J couldn't help but laugh at her statement, which quickly turned into a fit of coughs. He waved off her concern and continued to laugh after he caught his breath. At her words, he couldn't help but feel like the stray dog who had wandered too far off. Too bad he didn't have his tags.

"To Seoul," he said, another cough escaping. The hope that stirred in his chest at the thought of going home wasn't as large as it once would have been and he couldn't help but wonder why. Hung Sim stopped the cart and said something to his daughter. She said something back and grabbed a water jug from next to B.J. The old man drank quickly from it and then pointed to B.J.

"We not far from Seoul. You should be clean. Father no want to take dirty American into city in his cart," she said, handing B.J the water. He knew that image and honor were important to the Koreans. He knew that Hung Sim wanted to make sure everyone knew that he had taken care of the 'dirty American' with honor and dignity. The older man stepped up to B.J, held out a shaving blade and indicated to the American's unwieldy beard.

B.J. eyed the blade with a new sort of twinkle in his eye. He then eyed the South Korean and his family who had been kind enough to pick up his broken body and care for him. With a gentle hand, B.J. reached out and took the blade from the smaller man's hand. Hung Sim smiled graciously with a small bow. B.J. smiled back, but his eyes never left the blade. He knew why the hope hadn't blossomed. Being this close to home made him realized just how much things had changed. He wanted the old B.J. back. He wanted the one before the war… but at this point, he'd even take the B.J. that had been created by the hand of the MASH 4077. Would his mother and father… would Peg… would Hawkeye be able to recognize who he was now? It had been nearly two years since the war had been over. It had been two years that this new B.J. had been molded in this Asian form of purgatory. B.J. ran a finger over the blade and hissed only slightly as it split the skin. He watched in fascination as the blood began to gather on the tip of his finger. Yes… he wanted to be the old B.J. again. But he knew, deep down, it wasn't really possible…

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

**_Stay tuned… :)_**


	4. Part 4

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

_February '55… Crabapple Cove, __Maine__…_

It was early in the morning when the telephone rang. As Charles had bemoaned in Korea that a Winchester only acknowledged one six o'clock in the day, a Pierce usually did the same. Usually with a drink in hand… Hawkeye turned over in the bed and stared at the phone for a long moment. It continued to ring. With a yawn, he reached over and turned the lamp on. Still, he didn't pick the phone up just yet. If it was important, it would keep ringing. If it wasn't, they had the usual two more rings before they hung up. Three rings later, Hawkeye picked up the receiver.

"The man you know as Hawkeye Pierce is sleeping. The person you are speaking to now is a very expensive answering service, so please be brief," he said.

"Hawkeye…" Colonel Potter's gravelly voice greeted. The other man was momentarily stunned at the unexpected caller.

"Why, hello. I'd salute you, but the morning reveille hasn't played yet. Just between you and me, though, I don't think the bugle is a morning bugle," Hawkeye said, rubbing the sleep from his face.

"Still as lazy and crazy as ever, I see," Colonel Potter said with a laugh. Hawkeye grinned.

"Of course. You didn't think I brought out my best behavior just for the war, did you?" he asked. The colonel cleared his throat.

"Listen, Hawkeye," he said. "I've got some news." Hawkeye sat up straight.

"Ooh, the important voice. What's going on?" he asked.

"I've got some news concerning… B.J…" the colonel said. There was expected silence on Hawkeye's end. Finally, the man blinked and his brain started operating again.

"What about Beej?" he asked, his voice a tad more rough than it should have been.

"Now, get me straight, I'm not saying this to give your ticker a test drive. I just got a call. He's been alive all this time and they've found him," Potter relayed. Hawkeye stood up quickly, almost pulling the phone clear off the table as he did so.

"B.J.'s _alive_?" Hawkeye asked incredulously. For the second time in two long years he felt like retching. There wasn't a trash can in sight.

"That's an affirmative, son. He was found, unconscious, in a South Korean farm field. The family that found him took him to the American Embassy in Seoul after they fixed him up. They cared for him there as best they could for a month or so since he contracted a mean case of pneumonia right after they brought him in. And this past week he's been at Tokyo General listed under critical condition as John Doe. He didn't have any tags on him, or any sort of identification. And the family that brought him in was no help at all. Anyway, he woke up two days ago and was able to give my name when asked who his commanding officer had been," Potter said. Hawkeye was torn between anger and extreme relief as he paced, the phone clenched dangerously in his grip. He wasn't sure if he wanted to lash out in anger or break down into sobs.

"What about the body they'd found?" Hawkeye gritted out, opting for a pinch of the former. Potter let out a sigh, understanding completely the younger man's anger.

"It seems the young man that died was a South Korean named Soo Pan Sik. He's been missing these two years, many think he went AWOL from the South Korean Army and defected to the North. Sadly, that wasn't exactly the case…" he explained. Hawkeye let out a humorless laugh.

"Better late than never, eh Colonel?" he said. Potter let out a sigh.

"Put a cork on the 'colonel' bit, son. It's Sherm now. _Sherm_… or even Doc… or I can handle Sir, but not colonel," he said. At that, Hawkeye gave a genuine laugh.

"Sorry about that… But I told you you'd always be 'colonel' to me," he said. Potter chuckled.

"That you did. Anyway, they're shipping B.J. out today to the V.A. hospital in San Francisco. I'm hopping a plane out with Mildred later today so someone can be there to greet him," the older man said. Hawkeye sighed, knowing that as much as Peggy had loved B.J, she just wasn't ready to see him. Especially since eight months ago she'd become Mrs. David Layne. Someone needed to be there to explain it to B.J.

"I'll be flying out on the earliest flight I can get," Hawkeye said. There was a sigh of relief from the other end of the phone.

"Good to hear it. He'll need someone there he trusts when we break the news of the former Mrs. And I'm going to try to pull all the strings I can possibly scrounge up to get the boy 'alive' again as quickly as possible," Potter told him. Hawkeye hadn't even thought of that. He was more concerned with B.J. actually being alive than with the fact that his friend had been declared dead and buried by the Unites States government. That in itself was going to be enough red tape, political schmoozing and paperwork to make the Pope turn Buddhist.

"That's why you were the big kahuna, Col… Sir. I'll see you in San Francisco," Hawkeye said before hanging up. His weak legs couldn't hold him up anymore, so he collapsed back on to the edge of the bed. B.J was alive. For two years, they'd all thought him dead… but he hadn't been. Hawkeye wasn't sure which was worse… B.J actually being dead or B.J being alive and stuck in whatever hellhole he'd been stuck in for two years with no one there to help him.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

_The next day… __V.A. __Hospital __San Francisco__…_

Hawkeye walked down the hallway of the hospital, his leather-soled shoes squeaking slightly on the sterile linoleum. As he approached the nurse's station, he saw the former colonel waiting for him, arms clasped behind his back and looking as stern as he ever could. When they caught eyes, Colonel Potter stood straighter and the stern look melted into a grin.

"It's good to see you again, son," he said as Hawkeye stopped just in front of him.

"Slightly better circumstances this time around," the other man said. Potter nodded.

"That it is," he replied. Hawkeye couldn't get rid of the tightness in his chest that had afflicted him right as his plane had landed in gray, drizzly San Francisco.

"Well, I guess someone didn't put the puzzle back together right. Who knew that a 5'3, midget-shoed South Korean could be mistaken for a 6'3, elephant-shoed American? Amazing world we live in, Colonel…" Hawkeye said with his usual biting sarcasm. He could hear Potter's smile without having to look at him.

"That's the government for you," he said.

"Well, you're right. The government makes mistakes. Hell… Korea was one big 'oops, wrong damn address but we'll stay anyway.' I think the U.S. Army made a wrong turn at Istanbul but the big honchos in charge just didn't care…" Hawkeye said to the Colonel as they stood in the hospital atrium. The older man smiled at his former captain's acerbic comment.

"I'm mighty glad that B.J. is alive," he said, placing a hand on the younger man's arm. "I'm just sorry to hear that he came back to a life that didn't wait for him." Hawkeye closed his eyes at the thought.

"Me too. I'm pretty sure it was Peg and Erin that got him through these long months, just like they did when he was stuck in the Swamp. I honestly don't know how I'm going to break it to him that they aren't coming. At least not today, or anytime soon…" he said. The retired colonel shook his head solemnly at the thought. Then he slapped a hand on Hawkeye's shoulder.

"Well… he's on the second floor. Room 240. He's ambulatory, just barely. So, you might have to lasso him down," Potter said.

"Thanks, Colonel," Hawkeye said. He made his way to the elevator and didn't hear Potter sigh about the military address.

The entire ride up was one of nervous energy. What was he going to say? _Sorry for thinking you were dead?_ Hawkeye shook his head. Not exactly the way one should greet a certified Prisoner of War. Even a simple 'How have things been?' seemed insensitive. It was unsettling to not know how to talk to his best friend when he was the one person in the world that Hawkeye _did_ know how to talk to. Years apart did that to people, of course. But years apart where one person was held captive the entire time? Probably a little more extreme.

The elevator door opened with a loud 'ding'. Hawkeye took a hesitant step into the hallway. He didn't move for a moment as the doors closed behind him. The signs directly ahead of him pointed in the direction that B.J was located. It didn't take him long to find him.

Hawkeye watched as his friend stand near the window in the waiting room at the end of the hallway. He was barely recognizable. This B.J Hunnicutt seemed to be a shell of the man that had been ready to leave Korea. His already thin face had become even gaunter. The already gangly frame had become even more pronounced and looked grossly out of place on such a tall man. There was more gray in the receded hairline. But he was in one piece – standing on both of his legs and gripping the crutches with both of his hands. The tightness in his chest finally loosened.

"Well, well, well… look at what you did to yourself," Hawkeye called after clearing the frog that seemed to be lodged in his throat. The younger doctor stopped concentrating on the linoleum and looked up, his slate-blue eyes wide.

"Hawk!" B.J. asked incredulously as he recognized the lanky form at the other end of the hall.

"You promised me a dance my good man… and you promised me you'd be the one to lead. The way it's looking, I don't think you're gonna make the deadline," Hawkeye said in his usual flippant manner. He watched with a bittersweet feeling as B.J. hobbled down the hospital hallway on his crutches at a quicker pace. The light-haired man just grinned at the man standing near the nurse's station.

"It hasn't been ten years… just two… and I hope I'd be healed by then," B.J. retorted. Hawkeye rolled his eyes, but started his own trek down the hall.

"Ten… two… what's the difference?" he asked with a shrug.

"Eight…" was the answer. Hawkeye chuckled.

"Yep, you're B.J. I was concerned for a second there that they sent back the wrong person. But that smartass remark just confirmed it. Couldn't they keep you for another two years?" he asked teasingly. B.J. smirked as he continued slowly down the hallway.

"My grasp of their language was horrendous. They almost shot themselves a few times just to put _them _out of the misery of having to listen to me try. Why go back to that?" he asked.

"The hibachi? The egg rolls?" Hawkeye asked. Then he grinned. "At least they left you one good leg to run around on…"

"Just call me Hopalong Hunnicutt… M.D.," he said. Hawkeye let out a loud laugh that echoed down the long hallway.

"As you say monsieur …" he said with a small, beseeching bow and a grin. When B.J. stopped in front of him, he gave Hawkeye an assessing look.

"A little grayer since the last time I saw you," he said, a mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes. Hawkeye laughed again.

"Oh ye who throws stones… you're the one that gave the gray hairs to me with the bein' dead and all. Besides… aren't you a little bit balder?" Hawkeye asked while idly scratching his upper lip. B.J. reached up to run a finger over his own bare lip.

"Yeah, well… I still have my big feet," he said. The two smiled.

"On one good leg…" Hawkeye shot back.

"Captain Hunnicutt?" a voice interrupted the two men. B.J. and Hawkeye turned to a doctor who looked to be in residency.

"That's what my wrist band says," B.J said, causing Hawkeye to chuckle.

"What about your underwear?" he asked. B.J. shook his head.

"My mom stopped writing my name in them when I shipped out to Korea, I think," he said with a grin.

"Well, well...the truth comes out. Underneath that proper, dignified military uniform was a boy who still needed his mommy," Hawkeye said of their first meeting with a teasing roll of his eyes. B.J. shrugged.

"We need to be babied sometimes," he said. Then he raised an eyebrow at Hawkeye. "Some more than most…"

"Isn't that a given?" Hawkeye asked, interrupted in his comeback comment by the young doctor clearing his throat after he realized the two could carry on with the banter for days.

"Captain Hunnicutt, we need to get you down to physical therapy," the resident said. Hawkeye smirked, a small twinkle in his eye.

"Who needs a wittier comeback when the torture will be enough?" he asked. B.J. threw him a wry glance.

"Ha ha…" he said. Hawkeye shrugged.

"I think it's funny," he said. B.J. chuckled.

"Of course you do," he said. Hawkeye put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

"I'll stop by later to see how you're doing. Probably just to prescribe you some more pain and torture…" he said lightly with a grin before turning to head back to the elevator.

"Hey Hawk?" B.J. asked tentatively, causing Hawkeye to turn back around.

"Yeah, Beej?"

"Visit me a couple hundred times, will ya?" he asked. Hawkeye grinned at the familiarity.

"At least," he reassured, causing the fearful look on B.J. face to melt into a smile.

"We'll give the nurses a little hell," he said. Hawkeye let out a snort of laughter.

"At least," he said again before turning to leave and throwing a wave over his shoulder. B.J., happier than he'd been in the past two years, turned to look at the awaiting doctor. Leaning on one crutch he waved a hand in front of him.

"After you my good man. Lead the way to pain, torture and almost certain death," he told the doctor, who smiled and walked ahead of him.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

B.J was resting in his bed when Hawkeye finally had courage enough to break the news to his friend. Peg and Erin hadn't been delayed. They weren't coming.

The two men sat in silence as B.J's world crumbled around him. Instead of speaking, he just looked solemnly out the hospital window. It was raining outside; a fitting mourning for the end of a life. B.J Hunnicutt of Mill Valley, California was well and truly gone. Hawkeye sat in the chair tucked away in the corner and mourned as well.

**OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO+OO**

**_To be continued..._**


End file.
